What Once Was Lost
by ArtThistle
Summary: Set 9 years after the end of the book, Mary, Dickon, and Colin all return to Misselthwaite after not seeing each other for many years. They overcome obstacles to discover the truth behind their feelings. dickonxoc, dickonxmary.
1. Return to Misselthwaite

_Disclaimer: I do not own Secret Garden or any of the characters besides Matilda Sowerby._

**Chapter 1 : Return to Misselthwaite**

Mary had been away for quite some time. It seemed like an eternity ago that she had gone away to finishing school. But Mr. Craven had insisted that she receive a proper education and be raised into a real lady. For 7 years there would be no more scampering about in a garden for her. No mucking about in dirt or planting seeds to bring to life. For 7 years she would learn to pour tea properly, and walk and talk as a lady.

She could not help but feel that she was being brought up to be sold off to the highest bidding man.

As time went on, a deep longing grew in her heart for her dearest friends. Colin had been sent off to a boarding school to learn so that he might eventually choose a profession. Dickon had remained on the moors to tend the gardens at Misselthwaite.

As the coach drew along the road to the manor, Mary's excitement grew. She the first time in so very long she would be reunited with her cousin and friend.

The coach came to a halt before the grand building and it took a moment for Mary to recognize the man as her dear cousin Colin. He had aged so handsomely. At 19 he was quite a sight to be seen. His flaxen hair fell loosely about a well-chiseled face. His mouth was set in a grin and his eyes were full of laughter. She could scarcely believe he had gone from being terribly obnoxious and weaselly to handsome and bold.

She could not spot Dickon, but she had no doubt that he was lurking about somewhere. Perhaps even in their garden.

Colin rushed forward to offer Mary his hand as she descended from the carriage. She took it gently and emerged at last. Her blond hair had grown frightfully long and had started to become rather red. She was clad in a long, pale blue silk dress with short sleeves. Her blue-grey eyes sparkled and danced cheerfully.

"Colin!" She exclaimed, "It has been far too long. And where is Dickon hiding?" Passing by her question, Colin was quick to respond.

"Mary, my dearest cousin. We have not seen each other in a terribly long time. Let us not fret over mundane things such trifles as the whereabouts of Dickon." This response did not please the impertinent lady and she responded curtly.

"Dickon is not a trifle. Now where is our dear friend?" Colin seemed hesitant to give her a straight answer, but with enough persuasion he finally admitted it. Dickon had gone to war and had not yet returned. Not only that, but they had not heard from him for a few years now. There was little hope of his return.

Misselthwaite seemed huge and empty without the smiling face of Dickon about. And Mary couldn't bring herself to enter the garden for fear of being bombarded with memories of him. The cold sadness in her heart was almost too much to bear.

"Tha canna worry too deeply 'bout it, Miss Mary," said Martha one frigid afternoon, "Dickon is a good lad. He'll come 'ome." But Mary could not help but worry. There had still been no news from him and although the war was over, he had still not returned. Colin did his utmost to entertain her, but Mary would not be satisfied. Misselthwaite just did not feel right without him.


	2. An Unexpected Guest

_Disclaimer: I do not own Secret Garden or any of the characters besides Matilda Sowerby._

**Chapter 2 : An Unexpected Guest**

The letter that marked Dickon's return was greeted with much enthusiasm. It was a strange state of affairs for he neither said where he'd been nor why he'd sent messages to both Archibald Craven, and his sister Martha, but none to Mary. It was as though he had hoped she would not know he was returning.

Nonetheless, Martha read out the letter to Mary. 

_Dearest Martha,_

_It has been far too long since I've last sent you a letter. So much has changed. I will be returning by coach to Misselthwaite. Lord Craven has been kind enough to offer me the old groundskeepers cabin in exchange for work on the grounds. I have accepted his offer._

_I have heard that Mary has returned from school, and Colin too. I would very much like to see them upon my return._

_I do have quite the surprise for the lot of you. I hope you will be pleased._

_All my love,_

_Dickon Sowerby_

For a time it had been thought very odd indeed that Dickon had actually learned to write and spell, but there it was. One could only hope he still spoke like a Yorkie.

In the days leading up to his arrival. The groundskeepers cottage was cleaned and prepared for it's ne occupant. Lord Craven and Mrs. Medlock were extremely quiet about the visit and both seemed in a very sombre mood.

Mary and Colin set about tidying up their garden. There was so much to be done! Weeds to tear up, twigs to clip, flowers to plant. But it seemed that almost as soon as they had begun that things began to grow. The garden turned from brown to green almost overnight.

When at last the day had arrived for Dickon to return, everyone waited with baited breath. He had not specified when his carriage would arrive, though they could not help but wish it would be quite soon.

"What if," Mary mused, "something has become of him. It just won't do. If he does not arrive today there will be naught to do but to go out to find him." And although Colin nodded his head I agreement, his eyes said otherwise. Mary noted this change in her cousins demeanor and decided to wait until later to turn it about in her head. For why should Colin not be pleased? Dickon had helped him walk and grow strong. Life had been much easier with Dickon around. Less quarreling and more playing.

"Mary, suppose you come to my room and read with me until he arrives." said Colin. The day was getting on as the sun prepared to set. But Mary was steadfast against going anywhere. She was determined to wait on the steps until he arrived. She would be the first to greet him.

But Dickon did not arrive that day. As night fell heavily, Mary was forced to retire to her bedchambers. Sad and somewhat alarmed, she could only guess what might have befallen him. But it would do her no good if she did not sleep.

The next morning, Martha shook Mary awake very early.

"He's been spotted, Miss Mary!" She cried, "A little carriage 'as been spotted 'cross the moor. Dickon shall be 'ome soon." Mary rose and dressed swiftly. The excitement made her heard pound and her head spin. To see a friend unseen for so very many years. It was as though a dream had come true for her.

She raced down the steps of the manor just as the coach drew to a halt. It should have struck her as very odd that there was such a large coach for just one man to be occupying it. But as Mary had received no indication that there would be anyone else in attendance, the thought barely flitted across her mind.

After what seemed an eternity, the door opened and a tall, slim man stepped out. His curly rust coloured hair was mostly covered by a newsboy cap. And although his clothes were ragged and worn they seemed to fit his demeanor perfectly. Before greeting anyone, though he could tell they were dying to visit with him, he turned and reached into the coach. As he withdrew his arm, they saw first a hand, followed by an arm, and at last the torso of a woman. She was desperately pale, her tone is sharp contrast with both her gleaming red hair as well as her dark blue gown. She appeared sickly and weak, leaning on Dickon for support.

"Tha's right. Don' worry lass. Tha shall be right enough 'ere," he cooed softly to her. Martha stepped towards her younger brother, eyes filled with confusion.

"What is this then?" she asked. Dickon looked at her with large blue eyes.

"Well dinna tell tha there was a surprise? Tha musn't be too alarmed. She is me wife." His tone was serious, as was his expression. The onlooking staff of Misselthwaite could scarcely believe it. Young Dickon married? It seemed impossible. And yet here she was right before their eyes.

Mary's heart was pounding ferociously. She was terrified it would beat right out of her chest. She was not sure why she was so upset by this. It was not as though she'd had any claim on him. Although there had been a spark many years ago it seemed to her that, for him at least, it had been extinguished through years of neglect.

"Miss Mary," his voice brought her back to Earth, "Eh! Tha musn't make such a face! Tha would think a body had announced 'e'd died or some-at!" Mary knew it was true. Her face felt flushed and hot. Her head span. All those feelings she'd had the day before came back at full force. She swayed slightly before collapsing to the ground in a faint.


	3. What Could Never Be

_Disclaimer: I do not own Secret Garden or any of the characters besides Matilda Sowerby._

**Chapter 3 : What Could Never Be**

When Mary awoke, Dickon was by her side. Both his hands were clasped around one of hers. As her eyes fluttered open, she became aware of others in the room and her stomach clenched. She couldn't place the feeling, but with Dickon's hands on hers she just wanted to be alone with him. But then the realization and memory hit her. He was married. When had this happened? How could anyone have let this happen?

Her mind wandered to the time just before she left. She was 12. He was 14. Life had been so wonderful. But she would be leaving the next morning so she'd gone one last time to the garden with Dickon.

"Dunna worry, Miss Mary," he said, "We will oft' write. An' I will be 'ere when tha comes back." But Mary could not help but worry. She wanted only to stay with Dickon, safe and happy. She'd spent so much time with him during the past 2 years and it seemed a shame to have to leave.

"Promise me, Dickon," she said, "Promise me you will be here when I come back. I think I should like to marry you then." Dickon had grinned at her, his entire face lighting up.

"Eh! If tha wishes it then. But tha will be a proper lady when tha returns." He'd held her hand then too. And when she had embraced him, he had placed his lips lightly on the top of her head.

But everything was different now. Dickon hadn't been there when she returned. And he was married. She couldn't help but feel that everything was so wrong. This wasn't how she'd wanted things to go. She felt a pang in her chest and the truth hit her. She loved Dickon. It had just taken 7 years for her to realize it. And now it was all too late. Tears sprung up in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.

"Eh! Tha musn't cry, Miss Mary! Wha'eva is wrong?" His voice was warm and soft, but rather than comforting her it caused her to cry harder.

"It.. It.. It's nothing, D-d-dickon." Her tears made it difficult to speak. Dickon could not believe her, but he knew better than to push it. He was well aware of her temper.

"Now that Mary is awake, perhaps you should tend to your wife, Dickon." Colin said abruptly. Mary drew her eyes from Dickon's face to look at her cousin. He seemed to be early glaring at Dickon. It was a strange thing. Colin had no reason that Mary could see to be annoyed with Dickon. Unless something had occurred when she had been unconscious.

Dickon had turned his head and looked at Colin for a moment before nodding.

"Aye. That I should." He withdrew his hands and stood up. He glanced once more at Mary before he exited the room.

Dickon walked slowly down the hall to the room where Matilda was resting. Although he was married, he hadn't wanted to leave Mary's side. When he met, and eventually married, Matilda he had never expected to return to Misselthwaite. Colin had asked him to stay away, for Mary's sake. He had cared so deeply for her, but Colin was right. A union between them would be wrong. It would be cruel to take Mary from the wealthy life she was entitled to. And so he had stayed away. And he had married the sister of a man he fought beside. And then he returned.

Colin took Mary's hand in his own. He could never let Mary know that he'd told Dickon not to return. He'd seen the look in her eyes when she looked at Dickon. It was the look he'd always hoped would be turned to himself. But he feared Mary would never see him as he saw her. But it was not wrong for him to love her. It was still quite common for people to marry their cousins. Mary could not see that though. But she said such sweet words to him. It was all far too cruel.

As days passed, Mary grew used to the idea that's Dickon was not hers, and she was not his. And although they still spent time together in the garden, it was not as it once was. Dickon immersed himself fully in his work and rarely so much as looked at her. She could not know the sadness he felt when he thought of all that they'd lost. All that time that had passed.

"Miss Mary," he said at last, "tha should be getting' back. Night is comin'." Mary looked up at him, startled. He had barely said a word all day and now he was telling her to go home? How dare he!

"Dickon. You have said naught all day and now this. What have I done so wrong to you?" Without waiting for a response, she stood up and strode out of the garden. Dickon was left staring after her, not sure what he'd said wrong.

Mary entered the manor just as Colin descended the staircase in the grand foyer.

"Mary!" he exclaimed, "Whatever could be the matter?" Mary couldn't respond. She was shaking with rage. How could Dickon say such things to her? Finally she worked out her voice.

"I want them out of this house. Send them away to his little cottage. Just don't let them stay here." Colin was shocked, but slightly pleased. He had hoped that she would someday turn her attentions from their friend. It hadn't seemed likely, but there it was. She no longer wanted to be around him.

"Mary," he said cautiously, "Let us go to the theatre tomorrow. Would that cheer you?" Mary could only nod. A play with her cousin sounded like a fine idea. And that might help her get her calm down.

Dickon tidied himself up before returning to the manor. In a few days he and Matilda would be moving into their new cottage and he would not have to see Mary everyday. That would be easier for everyone. Wouldn't it? He couldn't be certain. And he would miss her dearly. But perhaps she just needed time to get used to the idea that he was married. Perhaps things would get easier. He was certain that if Mary would give Matilda a chance they would become fast friends.

Colin and Lord Craven were waiting for him.

"Mr Sowerby," Archibald began, "I hope you have been enjoying your stay here. I am aware that I said it would be a few days more before your house would be ready, but we request that you and your wife move there while Colin and Mary are at the theatre tomorrow." Dickon was shocked.

"Eh! I'm sure that would be a'right, but if I may, why has tha changed tha's mind?" He looked to Lord Craven for the response, but it was Colin that spoke.

"Mary herself requested it." Dickon's shock must have shown on his face, for Colin looked smug.

"Aye," he said, "we will be gone." Lord Craven nodded his head and strolled away leaving Colin and Dickon staring at each other.

"You should know that it really was Mary that wanted you to go." Colin said, breaking the silence.

"Aye. I am sure it was. But tha'art pleased no doubt."

"I had asked you not to come back. You went against my wishes, despite how noble your reasons were. You being here is hard for Mary. It will be better once you've gone to live in your hovel." His voice was cold and quick. He knew what needed to be said to make Dickon listen.

Dickon stepped around him and walked quickly up the staircase, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. Colin was right. He was common and poor. Mary deserved better. Perhaps once when they were much younger, he had believed anything was possible. But that was all in the past. Mary was a different person than the little girl he had known. She was a lady now. And although she had not grown much in height since she was twelve, she had grown curvy and beautiful. Suddenly his cheeks were burning for quite another reason altogether. He had thought of another woman in an inappropriate fashion. He rushed down the hall to the room where Matilda was waiting.

"Dickon!" Matilda's voice was weak and slightly raspy. Dickon rushed to her side and swept her up in his arms. "Wherever have you been, love?" Dickon held her tightly in his arms and nuzzled his face onto her neck. He loved her dearly and chastised himself mentally for ever having thought of another woman.

"M'lady, tha remembers th'garden I spoke of? I wa' tendin' it." He spoke with his lips touching her neck. He breathed deeply, taking in the sweet smell of her perfume. "Miss Mary came to 'elp me." He felt Matilda tense in his arms. If ever there was a fault she had it was her jealousy. She always wanted to keep him for herself.

"Eh! Tildy m'dear! Tha's got no need to worry." He kissed her gently on her neck until she giggled. He slipped his hand beneath the layers of his skirts, stroking her leg gently before lifting her easily in his arms and carrying her to the bed. He laid her down and climbed in next to her to do things only a man and wife should do together.


	4. A Dream Worth Dreaming

_Disclaimer: I do not own Secret Garden or any of the characters besides Matilda Sowerby._

**Chapter 4 : A Dream Worth Dreaming**

Mary was growing to regret sending Dickon away. He tended the garden so early in the morning that she scarcely ever saw him, and even then it was only a glimpse at a distance. Colin had been occupying much of her time so she rarely had a lingering moment to think of him. But still, late at night when she was alone her thoughts drifted only to him. She felt bad for banishing him away to his little cottage and could only imagine how lonely it was out there.

But Dickon was not lonely. Matilda was always at their home waiting for him to return from his day of work. She made him breakfast in the morning and packed a lunch for him to take. When he returned, dinner was being prepared. He never had reason to want for more company. His darling wife was well-educated and made for wonderful conversation. She never tired of hearing him talk about the moors, the garden, and his animal friends. She had noted that he hadn't mentioned Mary in almost 3 weeks. It was clear that he was not spending time with her lately.

Matilda was a jealous woman. She always had been. She did her best not to show it, but she was jealous and vain. She couldn't stand to be upstaged by anyone. She'd been raised to look down upon the help, and even now there were times that she would look at Dickon and question the choices she'd made. She had thought he was a lowly sort of fellow who would never dream of glancing at another woman. But now he'd brought her here and she worried that she was in danger of losing him.

"What has the world come to?" She thought, shaking her head. She sat on her rocking chair embroidering a pillow. She rather enjoyed embroidery, a fact she found shocking when she considered how much she disliked all the other parts of being a wife. She was not much of a cook, nor could she clean well. But when Dickon took her to bed it warmed her heart deeply.

The garden was warm and bright, and Mary sat upon the little stone bench Dickon had brought in sometime after she'd left. The seat was cool beneath her fingers, the sun having not hit it yet. It was early yet, but the lady could not help but wonder where Dickon was. Surely he had not been up so early as to have tended and left before she'd arrived! But that seemed to be the way of things. Or perhaps he would just not arrive that day. It was possible, of course, that perhaps today was his day off.

It had started to occur to Mary that perhaps he had seen her enter the garden, and since she had ordered him away, had decided to avoid it for the time being, when through the stems and leaves and flowers, a man entered. She raised her head in hope, but was sorely disappointed. It was Colin of course, though he rarely entered the gardens these days.

"Mary", he said, "I think perhaps it would be best for you to spend some time away from this garden. All it ever does it make you dreary. You are so much more a pleasant person when you aren't so dull." His voice was mocking, and a bit rude, but Mary was no longer thinking about him. She found herself suddenly quite furious. How dare Dickon not tend to their garden! How dare he not come when she wanted him too! In her state, she didn't stop to wonder whether she should summon him. Instead, she decided she'd had quite enough of waiting. She would not play his childish games. She would move on and forget about him.

And she wanted to. Oh how she desperately wanted to forget his soft eyes and gentle voice! But her heart wouldn't hear of it. Still, she steeled her nerves and stood up.

"You are quite right, cousin. Perhaps we should go away to the city for a while. I think the activity would give me something to be cheerful about." Colin couldn't help but notice the cold tones in her voice. And though he grew very excited to go to the city with her, he worried that she may have an ulterior motive for the travel.

Dickon did not tend the garden that morning. He was not feeling quite himself. The master requested that he go into the city and see a doctor, and as the master had been the one to request it, he had to obey. And so he went to see the doctor. It was nothing more than a cold, but he was to stay in bed until he was better. Preferably, with his wife looking after him. But Dickon knew his wife could not care for him. It was his duty to look after her. This was no time to be getting sick.

As he left the Doctor, he spotted familiar faces across the road. Mary and Colin were strolling arm in arm, laughing as though they didn't have a care in the world. And to any outsider, it would appear to be the case. Unfortunately, not all was splendid in their minds. Mary couldn't help but rage and boil about Dickon not appearing, and Colin was fraught with worry about his cousins attitude. She seemed so surly at times. She was clearly out of sorts and he wasn't sure what he could do about it.

"Mary," he began slowly, "Is there anything irritating you? You… Well… I'm sorry if I'm being impertinent, but you seem to be out of sorts." Mary's face flushed red and she glared at him. Who was he to suggest that she's dismayed about something?

"Really, Colin! How dare you? There is nothing wrong with me." Colin shuffled his feet slightly. He had upset her. It was the last thing he had intended to do, and yet it was the very first thing he did!

Deciding to call the day short, they returned back to the manor without exchanging any more words. The trip was cold and sullen, with neither party particularly pleased with the other.

As Dickon returned to his pleasant little cabin, Matilda already had dinner on the table. He sat down, but found he could not eat. The mere thought of ingesting anything made him quite ill, and so he took to bed. And is his bed, he slept.

"Dickon! Dickon come see! They're growing!" The voice was young, sweet, and feminine. He knew the voice well, but it was as though it was the first time he'd heard it. She called to him from beyond the fronds. He knew she was out there in the garden somewhere, perhaps around a corner or behind a bush. She was calling to him, and so he had to go to her. He began searching for her. She had to be here somewhere, but it seemed that just as soon as he thought he'd found her, her voice was coming from somewhere else. And so he ran in circles. Round and round he went. She had to be here. She was calling for him.

"Mary? Mary, where are you?" he had begun to call out frantically. Where could she be? Her voice had stopped. She was no longer calling. But he heard rustling. Rustling and footsteps. He turned to the noise and felt a lump rise in his throat. He was lost for words. She came through the branches like an angel, her reddish blond hair fell in long, soft curls, and her delicate white dress was dragging through the snowbells.

Dickon moved swiftly toward her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close. Pressing his face against her neck, he couldn't help but notice that she smelled like vanilla and mint. He kissed her. He kissed her and he embraced her as though he would never let her go. And as he laid her down in the flowers, she looked up at him with soft eyes, and spoke.

"Dickon. You need to wake up, Dickon." He was confused. What did she mean? He was awake.

As the images swam before him, he opened his eyes and found Matilda leaning over him, a damp cloth in her hand.

"Oh Dickon! You're finally awake!" He understood then all that had occurred. And though her felt guilt deep in his heart, he couldn't help but it was certainly a dream worth dreaming and he wouldn't trade it for the world.

A/N - I'm so sorry I haven't updated in so long! I had a long writers block and lack of interest. I've reread Secret Garden again, and I'm set and primed to work on some more chapters!


	5. A Story TOld

_Disclaimer: I do not own Secret Garden or any of the characters besides Matilda Sowerby. _

**Chapter 5 : A Story Told**

Mary's heart ached. She sat with Martha, hearing all about Dickon and Matilda and their lovely little life together. She could not help but be jealous. Perhaps if she were paler. Or her hair more red. That seemed to be what he found attractive. Mary could scarcely believe that her childhood friend, who had always been free as the wind on the moors, was suddenly tied down to anyone, particularly if that woman was not Mary herself. But that was the way of things. He was married and she had sent him away. It was cruelty at its finest.

"Martha, I think I will go to the garden again today." She said, standing up. Martha brought out a lighter gown, for it was a fairly warm day out besides the breeze, and Mary dressed. She had Martha comb out her hair, and bade a swift goodbye before heading outside. She felt warmer there in the gardens. It was a place they had spent so many happy days together. And though it pained her that those days were now passed, she wanted to continue remembering them.

As she neared the grand doors of the house to leave, she heard her name being called. Turning about, she saw he uncle descending the staircase, leaning heavily on his cane. It was no secret that he was getting on in years and there had been much speculation as to whether Mary or Colin would inherit the manor, or perhaps they would own it jointly.

"Mary, I do hope you don't find me impetuous, but there has been much talk about you as of late." He spoke slowly and as though he were wording his sentences very carefully. Mary could not help but wonder what the point of the conversation was.

"You see, Mary, when a woman reaches a… Certain age, I suppose… Well, it is generally expected from society that she, well, that is to say, that she starts… Searching for a suitor, I suppose. Do you understand?" Mary mentally questioned how anyone would make sense of what he had said, and rightly said so.

"No, uncle. I'm afraid you've lost me."

"Well, Mary, I've been thinking."

"And dangerous activity, uncle. And most likely bad for your health."

"Mary, please don't make this more difficult." Lord Craven sighed and shook his head. How could he make her understand? Of course, it made sense to be rather more blunt with her. She did tend to be a bit slower at times, though she was most often extremely bright.

"My dear niece, I think it is time that you find yourself a husband! And since it seems that Colin won't do, though he does his best to please you, I will make my attempt at finding you a suitable… Ehh… Well… A suitable suitor, I suppose." He trailed of sheepishly, for Mary was giving him a stern look. She was clearly not particularly amorous of the idea. He had been thinking it over for quite some time however and it was important that she accept the fate of being a woman. It was her duty to marry and look after her husband, and eventually her children as well. It was his intention to leave her and her chosen husband the manor and grounds. He had held some small hope that would mean leaving it to both Mary and Colin, but it seemed unlikely now.

Mary was stunned. She couldn't believe that her uncle would try to force something like that on her. She was not prepared to get married. In fact, she had never even considered marriage since she was a child. She felt a pang in her heart as she realized she had stopped desiring marriage when she found out Dickon had wed. And then she felt anger. Dickon had clearly moved on without her. He clearly didn't need her anymore. Well that was just fine. She didn't need him either.

"Very well, uncle. If you feel that is what's best for me." Lord Craven was rather taken aback. He had expected her to scream and stamp her foot. He had seen the familiar angry flush in her cheeks. But she had handled it quite calmly. She now looked rather smug and proud of herself. Lord Craven grew nervous. When Mary had that expression, nothing good could possibly come of it.

After she had finished her conversation with her uncle, she left the manor and went out to the garden. The flowers were in full bloom, their cheerful faces turned upwards. As she brushed aside the fronds, she heard soft voices. Quieting her step, she peeked through the branches and felt her heart fell at what she saw. Dickon was sitting in the garden with Matilda. He had brought that woman into their garden. The garden that had always been their private haven. The place where their love had bloomed. But now, it was the place in which their love would die.

With a sob, Mary turned and raced out of the garden.

Dickon had brought Matilda into his garden. He'd had his reservations about it, but it was clear how desperately she wanted to see it. He wanted to make her happy. He loved her. He was sure he did. He had to.

"Would tha like to hear a story, m'love?"

"Oh Dickon, that would be delightful!" Dickon sighed slightly and leaned back. How should he tell this story? What parts should he leave out? The parts with him and Mary of course. Perhaps he should make it seem as though Colin and Mary were always a bit of an item. As he thought, the words just started to come to him. He had to start from the beginning. The very beginning.

The day passed away. Matilda hung on his every word. She was delighted by the sisters playing in the garden, and shed tears when Mrs. Craven fell. When he came to Mary discovering the garden after years of it being abandoned, she frowned slightly. Matilda held no strong like for Mary, for she had an inkling of the past Dickon had with her. She had imagined to herself that it was Dickon that had found the garden. She had thought it would be him that brought it back to life. But hearing the way he spoke of it, she realized that it was all Mary. Mary had found it, and Mary had regrown it, and Mary had tended it since. It had been their special place. Mary and Dickon had shared that place together for so long, just the two of them.

"Dickon," her voice was pensive. Dickon halted his story and looked at her curiously. She avoided his gaze with as much grace as she could muster. "Dickon… Take me home." Her voice caught in her throat. She couldn't even begin to imagine the sort of expression he was wearing.

Dickon sighed gently. His heart ached at the memories he'd had in this garden. He'd wanted so much to share them with his dear Matilda. But if she was pained by thoughts of Mary, then he wouldn't let her hurt anymore. He had sworn to protect her, regardless of what he may lose. Matilda was worth every moment.

Matilda heard him stand, and then felt his arms wrap around her, lifting her into the air. She rested her head against his chest, breathing in his musky aroma. He smelled like the earth. It was a great comfort to her. As he began the trek back to their little cabin, she closed her eyes and began slipped into a slumber.

In her dreams, she saw Dickon and Mary, as youths, frolicking in the garden. The ill Colin sat in a chair and watched them. Matilda felt the ache in the deepest parts of her heart. She loved Dickon more than anything, and couldn't bear the thought of losing him.


End file.
